


Ships Passing in the Night

by Iambic



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Pre-show, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're a cop?" Neal asks. "You don't look like a cop."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ships Passing in the Night

"Where are you headed?"

He brushes a bit of snow off the bench and then sits down. It's not close enough to be a threat, not too far away. The man down the bench has his arms braced against his legs like it's going to make the train come faster. His coat's good quality, more expensive than it looks because all the money's going toward making it waterproof and warm. Sensible shoes. His hair's got snow in it, and the skin on his face obviously hasn't fared well in the cold.

There's nothing about him that _says_ FBI, but Neal Caffrey knows an agent when he sees one. The only question is, will this agent know him?

FBI man doesn't look away from where he's watching the tracks, in the direction Neal's headed. "I'm headed home," he says, and his voice just sounds exhausted.

Neal smiles a little. "Long day?"

"Long week."

The snow's picking up now, while Neal waits for something else to be said. It's not in the nature of the FBI to reveal its secrets, but this particular man does like to complain. Neal's seen it happen before. This isn't even the first time he's complained to Neal.

Sure enough -- "Spent it all chasing a dead end. No sleep to speak of, and the man got away. Again."

"You're a cop?" Neal asks. "You don't look like a cop."

"Something like that."

"FBI?"

"Got it in one."

There's snow piling on the brim of Neal's hat, and he removes it to shake the snow free. He's not sure why he keeps doing this. Sending cards to his pursuer is one thing, a taunt, but a taunt's no good at all if no one knows what it is but him. But if he ever divulged his identity, he'd have to stop doing this. Which he doesn't want to do. There's something actually enjoyable about these meetings, something beyond gathering intel. Hell, sometimes the things he learns don't matter one way or another.

"Do I know you?"

Neal grins. "Maybe you do. What's your name?"

"Peter Burke." FBI man looks over and smiles, though it's through some serious weariness and it doesn't look particularly enthusiastic. He's not seeing Neal, that much is certain. He never does, which is a good thing, because Peter Burke is smart enough to see through the cheap disguise. But right now he's tired and he wants to get home to his wife and he doesn't have the energy to wonder if his suspect is messing with him even now.

Not that Neal's even messing with him right now.

"I guess not," he says easily, and then his train comes rumbling around the corner, through the snow, and Neal has to run across the tracks to catch it on the right side. Peter Burke, when the train pulls away, is still waiting in the snow.


End file.
